


Another World

by PenelopeGrace



Series: One Last Act of Kindness [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Happy New Year!, hahahahahahahaha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-02-28 15:03:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13273962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenelopeGrace/pseuds/PenelopeGrace
Summary: This is a continuation of "One Last Act of Kindness." There's a lot of places where "Another World" salutes "One Last Act of Kindness." However, that fanfic could stand alone (especially for those who want a really solid ending, in which "Another World" does not possess), so I decided just to make another work. This is pure Tomione.





	1. Discovery

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I’M BACK! WHOO! HAPPY HOLIDAYS! HAPPY NEW YEAR! MAY YOUR 2018 BE AWESOME AND HEALTHY! btw, I also wrote about Morgana and Merlin in this continuation, but their story is different than what happened to the Morgana and Merlin in Psychology.

_I._

Morgana and Merlin.

_II._

Two of the most powerful witches and wizards in Camelot at that time. Perhaps, even of all time. A Dark Witch and the wizard who condone it. Love had—and still has—a perverse sense of humor, Hermione thinks. History never really wrote about the failings of soulmates, the pairings that never sparked a single shred of true love, romantic love, love between friends. No, it is washed of tragic love stories and a sprinkling of happy endings.

But what she—and the monster—had is something called a broken soulbond. Like what Morgana and Merlin had.

Records shows their first conversation went swimmingly. In the aftermath of their initial contact, Merlin only had to cast a few dozen Memory Charms due to the enormous fallout between the two. Three Muggles died.

“Will your flowers ever stop shrieking?” snarled Morgana as she hurled dark curses at the nibble wizard with a dark brown beard. Fire licked at the trees, and villagers screamed in agony as their clothes melted away in the sheer heat.

Merlin was doing all he could to prevent an astounding number of deaths. Still, he managed to give some parting words. “ _Avada Kedavra_!”

A small footnote in Morgana’s diary said it was actually a Mandrake. She expressed her intense desire to destroy every single one of them. Evidently, she had failed. Mandrakes exist to this day, Hermione notes.

Surprisingly possible, the relationship—or lack of one—between Morgana and Merlin deteriorated even further. If they were an actual couple, Hermione would call out so many counts of domestic abuse and incidents. They were pure awful to each other. When Merlin was trying to help King Arthur win over Guinevere, Morgana tried two times to kill Arthur and then attempted to poison Guinevere at their wedding. She sent her son after them to cause much mayhem and turmoil between the king and queen. She finally found success when she found Guinevere’s true soulmate, Lancelot.

As far as Hermione could tell, Mordred was not Merlin’s son. He was born before Morgana had met Merlin. And they, she internally cringed at that thought, had not ever consummate their bond.

When Morgana finally destroyed Merlin by putting him into a permanent slumber, she wrote a curious section in her diary:

“ _Impossible. I feel not a moment of love for desire to the wizard who was supposed to be my soulmate. He was everything I was not, and I sought to crush him and stuff his life out as if stomping on a simple, dim-witted frog. I have felt no broken heart over this act though my fellow witches and associates have warned me again and again that I would feel devastating sorrow when he fades away. Instead, I feel the purest of joy as I sense him slip away._ ”

With the war raging in her everyday life, she was unable to research more about the bond between her and Lord Voldemort. Between forming secret alliances with foreign governments and perfecting a bastardization of Muggle and wizarding weapons with George Weasley to be used against the Death Eaters, she never found a perfect time to learn more about the bond. The imperfect bond.

After the war has ended, Hermione took a job as a historian. She devoted herself away from wars, curses, and her own feelings. The early histories about Hogwarts were of simpler times. The journey of the first witch across the Atlantic to a greater shore was something that called to what’s left of the adventure in Hermione’s soul. But it is the mention in a diary of a married Muggle named Sam Prior living during the Salem Witch Trials that caught her eye. He spoke of a broken soulbond, after he condemned his witch soulmate to be hanged and felt absolutely no remorse over his repulsive action.

Just as Morgana has done to Merlin.

Just as she has done to Lord Voldemort.

Not a single thought of hesitation or remorse. Not a single moment of true mourning.

She runs her fingers over those words. The ones written on her smooth skin in delicate words and smooth, beautiful handwriting. She remembers what she first said to him all those years ago.

On the autopsy of Lord Voldemort’s twisted, serpentine body, there was heavy, old, dark residue on his forearm, close to his wrist. A curious mortician reversed the damage, but the handwriting on his arm was blurry. She sent a copy of the words to be placed in the autopsy file and then cremated the remains.

When George, Neville, and Hermione pored over the report, George paused over the photo. He squinted, reading the words soundlessly, and commented, “Whoever is his soulmate, I feel terribly sorry for them.”

Hermione peered closely at the words.

_One last act of kindness._

She, after a long moment, let out a sigh. It was confirmed. The monster was truly her soulmate. But why him? Why?

_III._

It was Morgana’s fifth journal that told Hermione how disturbed and curious Morgana was by the lack of love she possessed for Merlin. The next eighty pages of parchment are filled with theories and ingredients. Morgana had crossed off some complete pages, added bits of parchment between other pages, and inserted logical ramblings that Hermione followed. She pointed out potential plants to be used in her potion project. Hermione’s not surprised to find some of these plants to cause hallucinations and motion sickness along with other unsavory side effects.

Then at the final page, where Morgana had perfected her project, Morgana listed out the exact instructions with a suggestion to drink about two to three cups of the cooled potion. Hermione runs her finger up and read Morgana’s potion’s name. “ _Alium se orbem terrarum_.”

With further research, Hermione translates it to English.

Alium se orbem terrarum. Another World.

It would take only a forthnight to brew, and Hermione is curious about one thing Morgana has written in tiny print at the bottom of the page—below the final instructions. After so many pages of pure frustration at Merlin and the fact that he was her soulmate, Morgana had chillingly wrote only three simple words that made Hermione’s heart clench.

_“I now understand.”_

_IV._

She drinks the potion on a Friday night, the full moon hanging high ahead with its brightness eternal against the sparkling sky. If it went wrong, she reasons, she has the entire weekend to work out the problems. The glass-clear potion tastes of a warm sweetness, victory, happiness, and above all, an irrational amount of hope.

It tastes of everything she has ever wanted but never had.

And with that sweet aftertaste in her mouth, Hermione set down the empty glass and quietly fell into a deep slumber, her body slowly falling down into the worn rugs of her bedroom.

_V._

He could not move forward nor backwards. He is stuck somewhere, some place, some time. It is cold, and he rests there just shivering in the unyielding darkness. He is hungry yet his stomach feels no hunger. He curls deeper into himself, as if he could gather up whatever warmth he has left.

Then something odd happens.

He could not move his head, but he could feel the place he came from opening to him. The pain, the sorrow, and the despair screams louder than before.

Gathering up all the will he has left, the man pushes himself up from the floor, naked and shivering. He feels the peace of the forward, but it is beyond his reach. But the place he knows is within reach. He only has to  _run_.

The man born under the name of Tom Marvolo Riddle returns to the world of the living.

_VI._

What would it be like if they never met on battlefield but instead at peace?


	2. Truth

_I._

A burn ravages in her forearm. Yawning, she pushes off her faithful orange cat, Sophie, who meows in outrage, and rubs on the words of her soulmate. She peers at it, knowing every curve, every twist, every line of every letter making up his or her innocent question. She grins a little at the small claw marks Sophie made. “Oh, you silly goose.”

Sophie meows in protest.

_What of the Ancient Eastern Chinese methodology, Miss Granger?_

Ever since she has attended Hogwarts, she delves into reading all she can about Ancient Eastern Chinese Methodology. She was not discouraged when all the books surrounding the topic were only to be found in the Restricted Section. She was not surprised when she found the rituals to incredibly Dark and advanced. She could not fathom why her soulmate would ask her about Ancient Eastern Chinese Methodology.

It is a fancy name encompassing thousands of rituals, spells, and potions involving human sacrifice, torture, blood magic, and acupuncture. In the second half of one book in the Restricted Section, Hermione slammed the cover shut when she read about one ritual used by ancient farmers to kill newborn girls in order to “replenish” the land. Sickening, it actually works according to the notable evidence provided by the author as proof. A small part of Hermione wonders if it’ll work for any newborns, not just newborn girls.

She could not understand why her soulmate would want to know about it.

_II._

Three hours later, Hermione sits on a panel at the British Research Convention. She’s an expert on unorthodox methods for Healing. Unorthodox meaning some use of Dark Arts. She refuses to do anything immoral, but it does not stop her coworkers from calling her a Dark Witch behind her back. Just because it may cause the patients some pain does not mean it is ineffective in curing some of the worst diseases known to wizardkind, she has frequently thought.

She rubs her eyes with the back of her hand, trying to keep up on the current discussion of the current generation’s magical ability and creativity. A member of the audience—Ms. Myrtle Warren with a frumpy dark cloak and big glasses—keeps on pratting about the current NEWT scores of recent Hogwarts graduates.

Appearing to be in her early sixties, the witch points out, “The next generation is achieving higher and higher scores than the year before. The amount of jobs within research remains stagnant.” Her hands flutter around her papers, looking through more facts and information she can lobbed at panel. “Unfortunately, this trend continues in all other fields with the exception of Advanced Healing.”

“I’ll like to weigh in,” says the stocky wizard sitting next to Hermione. Smelling distinctively of cigar smoke, he continues, “Though the number of jobs remain the same, the standards of entry-level researchers have increased. We are getting better interns who are more competent than their last year’s counterparts.”

The panel lead speaker rolls his eyes. “We are getting off-topic, Dr. Wombart, Ms. Warren. We must proceed. Our next topic centers on Runes mixed with Muggle Calculus. Early preliminary research from the Finnegan-Nott team along with an independent study by Dr. Lovegood has shown mixing the two together creates stronger, more potent rituals.”

Hermione is unsurprised by the murmurs. She can already hear the disgust by those holding strong anti-muggle sentiment.

Looking left and then right at the fellow witches and wizards on the panel, she briefly entertain the thought of a nice, long nap. She figures there’s a slim chance of getting away with it. Maybe more if she has taken Fred’s advice of a drinking a certain little potion to induce a pretty daydream while appearing she is completely invested in the panel.

She is relieved to hear the end of that topic when the panel leader switches to medicine. Now this is more like it. The panel leader introduces the growing problem of WV, similar to Muggles’ HIV.

It’s a sickening virus that passes from person to person and causes their magic to first decay and then forces it to attack its own body. Magic ends up killing the host in a final bid to destroy the magically-fused virus. One of the worse ways to go, in Hermione’s opinion. Even the Killing Curse is far kinder.

Hermione can’t count the number of victims she has personally seen using all of her fingers and toes. She has found a Dark pain ritual that is able to successfully remove the pain of her patients at a severe cost. Lately, she has been using lab rats to completely remove the pain. Rats usually suffer about a week before they die from the overwhelming feeling. She tried various ways to prevent rats from feeling the pain, but they seem to sense it anyway.

She knows it’s completely wrong. But when she remembers the painless, brief smile on that little girl’s face, she would personally kill a thousand more rats and torture a million more to see it again.

But despite this, all she has been doing is treating the symptoms, not the disease itself.

“Healer Granger has modified a Dark ritual to transfer the pain to another living creature,” says the lead speaker, “for WV. With this method, patients are able to live approximately 3 to 5 weeks longer than without the procedure.”

Unsurprisingly, Ms. Warren feels the urge to speak. “The paper written by Healer Granger reports that these rats she uses die within a week after living with constant pain. I’m not certain of how ethically that is.”

A few members in the audience and even a head on the panel nods.

“I will like to weigh in,” announces Malfoy, the Transfiguration expert on the panel. His shiny blond hair gleams under the warm sunlight streaming in from the windows. Hermione, not in a million years of trying, can get her hair to look that neat and shiny. “Healer Granger has extended the lives of WV patients much greater than imaginable. Her use of the Dark pain transfer ritual may be controversial, but it is unfortunately necessary until we can find drugs that patients can not develop a resistance against.”

Hermione gives a small tilt of her head at her former rival in school. She honestly did not expect that.

“A cure should be found,” insists Ms. Warren. “The ritual is not attacking the virus at its source.”

Healer Weasley-Brown clears her throat. The blonde woman look towards Hermione and then raises her voice. “We are trying to do the best we can, Ms. Warren. We don’t have all the pieces nor all the knowledge yet to figure out how to attack the virus. Autopsies reveal that the virus has integrated into the magical core of a witch or a wizard before their own magic tries to enact Stage 3 of WV.”

Some people in the audience shivers.

A smooth voice cuts across the silence. “I would like to ask a question for Healer Granger.” He pauses, as no one objects. “ _What of the Ancient Eastern Chinese methodology, Miss Granger?”_

Hermione’s head snaps up to attention, as her eyes roam through the rows of chairs to find the source of that voice. She finds it in a man wearing impeccable black wizarding robes with combed hair. She licks her lips as she wonders what exactly she would say to him. What she would speak. . .

After a moment of eternity, or it seems, she replies, “Ancient Eastern Chinese methodology believes in using acupuncture to correct a magical core when ill.”

He sits back, his dark eyes sharpening. “They have other ways.”

“But acupuncture is the least invasive of all the options in this methodology.”

A corner of his mouth turns upwards.

_III._

The audience avoids her after the lead speaker closes the panel and the question session. Everyone except  _him_.

“Healer Granger,” he simply says.

“Ancient Eastern Chinese methodology?” She tilts her head, quirking her eyebrow. “That is quite out there, Mr. . .?”

“Riddle. Tom Riddle,” he replies, his teeth gleaming white.

The world seems to blur as all she can think is this moment. This one moment with him. This conversation, the insight into alternative options, the intelligence, the quiet, knowing confidence he holds within himself.

And she is enthralled in his orbit, blossoming under his attention.

_IV._

“Hermione?”

Someone lightly slaps her cheek.

“Hermione?”

She opens her eyes, expecting to find Tom hovering over her. Instead, she sees the faces of her concerned friends.

“What’s going on?” she groggily asks.

“You didn’t show up for work,” says Neville. They dive into an explanation of why there are there. Apparently, she has been sleeping for the last 4 days and missed a few days of work. All while they talk and talk and talk about taking her to St. Mungo’s for treatment in case she didn’t wake up, a tear has slipped from the corner of her right eye.

_I understand._

_V._

Seven thousand miles away, waves on a dark beach casually dumps a body onto the shore. The limbs of the naked man moves slowly, a hand painfully clutching his head and brushing away dark hair from his eyes.

Only one word comes out of his mouth.

_Hermione._


End file.
